Lucifer's Hammer
Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
As the title of this book suggests, Lucifer's Hammer is full of mayhem and just a hint of religious undertones, delivered as a comet violently smashes into Earth and destroys civilization as we know it (or knew it in 1977). Though we begin with both feet solidly planted in the technological world, readers can feel the mounting tension as the comet begins to capture the world's imagination, personified most specifically through various denizens of the greater Los Angeles area, with a United States Senator and his hot, slightly slutty daughter thrown in for good measure. Readers who don't know much about the geography of this part of California are advised to at least glance at an atlas beforehand, as the authors assume a working topographical and sociological knowledge of the area; without it, moments of the narrative can jar readers out of the otherwise enrapturing tale. And, though the scope of this worldwide disaster novel is somewhat restrained, the choice seems a good one; the hard science that drives the novel seems to suggest the mid-California mountains as a likely place for human survival, and at the very least this is a disaster novel that pays attention to the everyday men and women on the street, with nary a President to be found. The cast, large as it is, is admirably handled and well-enough juggled, though the list of "Dramatis Personae" at the book's front is a bit misleading, as it emphasizes some decidedly minor characters while leaving out some fairly important ones. Regardless, it is fascinating to watch a spectrum of people react to the news about the comet, prepare for or pretend to completely ignore its impending strike, and, eventually, react, though the cast is overpopulated with burly manly types and is sorely lacking developed, well-rounded women.
In fact, it's not simply the absence of strong women that may rankle some readers but, rather, the way in which otherwise powerful women are consistently dismissed as the authors' personal politics manhandle their way into the novel. For every ass-kicking moment of inspired driving, there is a female character all too happy to accept that she can be no more than a cook in the new, manly society of manly physical labor; worse, the men treat the women as afterthoughts and, in a brilliant display of macho sexism, as an outright prize. It is tempting to attribute this to the times (it may indeed be the authors, and not a character, who essentially say, "To hell with this women's lib nonsense"), but Niven and Pournelle go out of their way time and again to remind readers that women need to be put in their place, even when they know precisely what's going on; they are good for cooking, pushing paper, and introducing dramatic conflict as men jostle for their affections. What begin so promisingly as strong, independent women instead become relegated to the kitchen and the bedroom, creature comforts but, ultimately, not very useful; save, of course, for the Soviet doctor who of course renounces communism entirely. Perhaps this is a personal grievance, but the authors demonstrate throughout the novel that their political viewpoints can come across without use of the Obvious Hammer, then sadly allow the book's climax to be overtaken by an anti-environmentalist rant. This unnecessary proselytizing undoes the book at several otherwise powerful moments, and threatens to derail a thoroughly depicted, perfectly good apocalypse.
All is not doom and gloom, however, and it is possible to revel in this book despite the authors' occasional lapses in judgment. The first chapters of the book are thoughtfully interrupted by a look at the Solar System's first moments, and readers get a first-hand introduction to the planet's doomsday device; the effect is perfectly chilling, and brilliantly echoed at a key future moment. Otherwise, much of the book is standard disaster fare, with a plot that revolves around the (manly!) jostle for land, power, and survival (not necessarily in that order), with some surprisingly powerful, but too infrequent, emotional asides that ruminate on the true effects of apocalypse. Disaster scenes and post-comet visions of destruction are artfully realized, and though some of the cast is mysteriously dropped, referenced only by a throwaway line rather than a proper death scene, readers will come to care about the exploits of the remainder, and almost every thread is neatly tied, just not at the most efficient pace. Niven and Pournelle have clearly thought through the matter of the end of the world, and though their politics can dampen the novel's impact, there is plenty of heart to accompany the standard horror and some truly shocking reversions. Lucifer's Hammer is a satisfying novel of apocalypse that shows sparks of brilliance, particularly in its use of science, but which falls too often into political rants to be truly classic.
Grade: B
Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
As the title of this book suggests, Lucifer's Hammer is full of mayhem and just a hint of religious undertones, delivered as a comet violently smashes into Earth and destroys civilization as we know it (or knew it in 1977). Though we begin with both feet solidly planted in the technological world, readers can feel the mounting tension as the comet begins to capture the world's imagination, personified most specifically through various denizens of the greater Los Angeles area, with a United States Senator and his hot, slightly slutty daughter thrown in for good measure. Readers who don't know much about the geography of this part of California are advised to at least glance at an atlas beforehand, as the authors assume a working topographical and sociological knowledge of the area; without it, moments of the narrative can jar readers out of the otherwise enrapturing tale. And, though the scope of this worldwide disaster novel is somewhat restrained, the choice seems a good one; the hard science that drives the novel seems to suggest the mid-California mountains as a likely place for human survival, and at the very least this is a disaster novel that pays attention to the everyday men and women on the street, with nary a President to be found. The cast, large as it is, is admirably handled and well-enough juggled, though the list of "Dramatis Personae" at the book's front is a bit misleading, as it emphasizes some decidedly minor characters while leaving out some fairly important ones. Regardless, it is fascinating to watch a spectrum of people react to the news about the comet, prepare for or pretend to completely ignore its impending strike, and, eventually, react, though the cast is overpopulated with burly manly types and is sorely lacking developed, well-rounded women.
In fact, it's not simply the absence of strong women that may rankle some readers but, rather, the way in which otherwise powerful women are consistently dismissed as the authors' personal politics manhandle their way into the novel. For every ass-kicking moment of inspired driving, there is a female character all too happy to accept that she can be no more than a cook in the new, manly society of manly physical labor; worse, the men treat the women as afterthoughts and, in a brilliant display of macho sexism, as an outright prize. It is tempting to attribute this to the times (it may indeed be the authors, and not a character, who essentially say, "To hell with this women's lib nonsense"), but Niven and Pournelle go out of their way time and again to remind readers that women need to be put in their place, even when they know precisely what's going on; they are good for cooking, pushing paper, and introducing dramatic conflict as men jostle for their affections. What begin so promisingly as strong, independent women instead become relegated to the kitchen and the bedroom, creature comforts but, ultimately, not very useful; save, of course, for the Soviet doctor who of course renounces communism entirely. Perhaps this is a personal grievance, but the authors demonstrate throughout the novel that their political viewpoints can come across without use of the Obvious Hammer, then sadly allow the book's climax to be overtaken by an anti-environmentalist rant. This unnecessary proselytizing undoes the book at several otherwise powerful moments, and threatens to derail a thoroughly depicted, perfectly good apocalypse.
All is not doom and gloom, however, and it is possible to revel in this book despite the authors' occasional lapses in judgment. The first chapters of the book are thoughtfully interrupted by a look at the Solar System's first moments, and readers get a first-hand introduction to the planet's doomsday device; the effect is perfectly chilling, and brilliantly echoed at a key future moment. Otherwise, much of the book is standard disaster fare, with a plot that revolves around the (manly!) jostle for land, power, and survival (not necessarily in that order), with some surprisingly powerful, but too infrequent, emotional asides that ruminate on the true effects of apocalypse. Disaster scenes and post-comet visions of destruction are artfully realized, and though some of the cast is mysteriously dropped, referenced only by a throwaway line rather than a proper death scene, readers will come to care about the exploits of the remainder, and almost every thread is neatly tied, just not at the most efficient pace. Niven and Pournelle have clearly thought through the matter of the end of the world, and though their politics can dampen the novel's impact, there is plenty of heart to accompany the standard horror and some truly shocking reversions. Lucifer's Hammer is a satisfying novel of apocalypse that shows sparks of brilliance, particularly in its use of science, but which falls too often into political rants to be truly classic.
Grade: B
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